


not a fucking surgery either

by Lilian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Communication, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Present Tense, Romance, Swearing, implied infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1769101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilian/pseuds/Lilian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has something he needs to tell Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not a fucking surgery either

**Author's Note:**

> The fic hasn't been Brit- or grammarpicked, because I don't have a beta: if someone is willing, contact me, it would be greatly appreciated. :)
> 
> This fic is also a shoutout to the future parents and the world: teach and let your boys (and all of your children, of course, too) communicate their emotions! 
> 
> Set some time after season 3. This is a way I can imagine confessions between these two.

**not a fucking surgery either**

Sherlock is sitting at the table in 221B when John notices him, coming back to the flat. He seems to be in the middle of an experiment, but he looks up. At that moment, every previous well-constracted and carefully planned sentence in John’s head collapses on itself.

”Hello.” Sherlock says. _I haven’t seen you for 15 days._

”Hi.” John stands in front of the table, mouth parched, and wishes himself elsewhere, to a deserted island, yes, that would be good.  ”I- what are you doing?”

”Experiment.” Sherlock replies. _Obviously. God, he knows how I hate… Well, small talk is better than nothing, at least small talk with John tends to be. If nothing else, he’s actually intersted in the things that he asks…_ ”I’m attempting to determine whether-”

”Umm, sorry, it doesn’t matter.” John interjects. His palms are sweating. ”You don’t have to answer. I mean, please- don’t answer.”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. _What happened, John?_

”Not--- I, listen, I just need to tell you something— It’s hard-- for me, and if you won’t interrupt, then maybe…”

Sherlock nods. _I already know that Mary’s baby is likely not yours and that you are considering a divorce for some time now._

”You have my utmost attention, John.”

He laughs at that.

”Right. God, you probably already deduced—And actually been a gentleman about it, never really said a thing. Although it must have been obvious to you, I mean… Christ.

John is struggling with the words, and Sherlock thinks, annoyed: _You should have know by now that I won’t judge you for your sorry excuse of a wife, you should know that I am above these things – you sometimes are so slow on the uptake. That’s why I didn’t get to see you for more than two weeks now?”_

”I thought I’d never have this problem, actually. When we first met, I thought you— well, you might still be, but. That thing with Janine—I realised—”

_Wait. What are you…_

”And it’s not really you, it’s me, _I_ changed, I want it to be in the open, because you were the only thing that was good-- hell, almost _perfect_ in my life, before, and now I wake up every day in the mess I am with Mary, and go on with my job and that miserable life and-- without you.”

_Heart rate: close to one hundred and twenty per minute. Sudden shortness of breath._

John closes his eyes tighly.

”And I need to say this. God, I have to tell you that I—

_John. John. John._

”Fuck, Sherlock, I—”

_Me too._

 

John pauses at the edge before the leap. This is that point. He could still finish that sentence anyhow, he could say: _”Fuck, Sherlock, mate, I really need a pint right now.”_ or _”Fuck, Sherlock, I am ready to look at those gruesome tripple-murder photos you gushed about last week.”_ or even _”Fuck, Sherlock, I should have never married Mary.”_

But it would be cowardice. Not just because they’d both knew it’s a lie, but because **it’s just six stupid little words** , and he’s a fucking soldier who went to Afghanistan, he shouldn’t be _this_ afraid of talking about his own goddamn feelings. It’s so pathetic. It’s so bloody hard.

Sherlock stands up. John is staring at him with wide eyes, with an almost open mouth too, and Sherlock…

He steps closer. He goes round the table and stops in front of John. His eyes are intense, his pupils dialated. He is breathing heavily.

”I am in love with you.” John says, softer than a whisper.

Sherlock claims his lips the second the words are out. They are kissing for long minutes, John lightheadedly, Sherlock delightedly.

”I’m not a virgin.” Sherlock declares immediately after they part. ”Mycroft tells that to everyone, but it’s not true.”

John blinks at him, stunned.

”Oh, and what you said—umm.” Sherlock clears his throat. ”The sentiment is requited, John.”

They stare at each other for long, grinning involuntarily. Kiss some more. Talk. And then, after a while, well into midnight, John starts to giggle. Sherlock eventually joins in. They try to laugh out all the frustration and the heartache.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think. :)


End file.
